Bugger, It's Cold ...

We officially arrive in the "happening" city of London in the morning of July 9th at 5 am. It was wet and gloomy and the air was heavy with the smell of rain. And it was bloody cold. Horrors. This is SUMMER?! As I walked out of the airport, luggage in tow, fingers numb, my nose running, I ran through the entire wardrobe I packed in my head, trying to recall if I packed anything remotely appropriate: a few shirts (mostly short-sleeved -- yikes), jeans , a few summer slacks (casual khakis, another white, another green), denim skirt, 4 pairs of shoes (including my favorite open-toed wedge sandals), 3 bags ... er ... purses (they needed to match my outfits!), denim shorts, light jackets (2 of them courtesy of my fabulous friend, Audine), a single pair of socks! I mean, I wanted to look the "smart" traveler (as in, stylish for what I thought would be warm weather but also clever -- you know, not much packed but always looking fabulous?) but realized as soon as the pilot said "10 degrees" that I was screwed.

To some of you who may read this, 10 degrees isn't exactly "snowing out." But this is a girl used to the sun and the humidity of Manila, who thinks 32-37 degree temperatures are "normal", and whose idea of "cold" is the airconditioner set to #4 (10 being the lowest temp).

I wondered how -- and when -- all this cold happened exactly. I mean, I had closely watched Wimbledon over the last 2 weeks and, unless the tv can actually lie, I thought, London is having a hot, sunny summer -- the tennis fans in the stands actually wore tanks and tees. Goody!

I got on the famous London black cab feeling stupid, that is, to have thought that London weather was predictable, and muttering to myself, How ever could I look and be fab here when I'm literally shivering in my shoes?